It's Better Not to Have Expectations out of Life, I've Learned
by Ninjagirl2211
Summary: 'This is in no way how I expected my day would end up this morning…' Was the first thought to pass through my mind. What happens when you're forced to come face to face with yourself...literally? In a violent world I know only too well will try its very best to kill me, will a once sad, pathetic girl learn how to survive and maybe even save a certain clan in the process? Or two?
1. The Other Side of Me

_Italics_ = Spoken in Japanese

Normal = Spoken in English

**Bold** = Japanese words to be translated within or at the end of the chapter

* * *

Things were finally looking up for me. I guess it only makes sense that the time space continuum would choose _now_ to screw me over. Only when my life is finally getting back on track and starting to look like something I'd want to _call_ my life—be _proud_ to call my life—does my wish finally grant itself. The universe must enjoy watching me suffer. And I'm sure a lot of people make themselves out to be varying forms of pitiful cosmic jokes, but in this case I think it's actually a hundred percent true. Some higher being must truly enjoy watching me struggle through every part of my pathetic, unhappy existence.

But I'm probably getting a little bit ahead of myself. Let's start with the basics. You ever hear the phrase 'Truth is stranger than fiction?' Yeah, well, that's my life in a nutshell. Even if I were to tell you all about myself in this monotonous exposition, you probably wouldn't believe me for a second. So all I'm going to say for now is that I hated it enough, and it made me hate myself enough, to wish I had never existed in the first place. Ironically, the only escape I found was _through_ fiction. The only desire I ever had stronger than anything else was to _literally_ find that escape.

You see, I'm not exactly fond of the world. My roller-coaster of a life notwithstanding, I hated the world more. It lacked all the luster of the magical places I would hear about in stories, or read in books. In comparison, when I woke up in the morning and looked out my window, I would see a grey, colorless place that held no joy or wonder for me whatsoever. I had nothing to look forward to, no qualities or skills of note that would evoke admiration from others—nor were they particularly useful for anything. In conclusion, I was so wretched and miserable, with no hope for the future or the world I lived in, that I decided to check out early, and hope whatever came next would yield better resluts.

Let's just say I failed on that front, and after that, my life cooked up a far worse shit-storm than I ever anticipated. Suffice to say, it forced me to stop whining about it and try to turn it around so it could at least get it back to being _bearable_ again. But then something happened—something so amazingly incredible that I couldn't even believe it myself. Things…started to get better. After working at it again, and again, at eighteen years of age, I started to actually become a functional adult. I had a job, and started to repair the relationships between me and my crazy family. I still didn't have any friends, and I was checking myself into therapy, but hey—baby steps. And I guess I was just a little late but…you know, they say it's better to be late to the party than to never show up at all.

But that all changed during one fateful lunch break. It's hard to believe that your life can be so dramatically altered in less than thirty minutes. I worked at Wendy's, and the pay wasn't fantastic, but it was better than nothing, and I had to start somewhere. It wasn't until I actually got a real job that I fully realized the extent of how clumsy I was. I can clearly recall two separate occasions where I had gone flying like in those old Saturday morning cartoons where the character slips on a banana peel. I'm not even exaggerating. The word 'klutz' may just be imprinted into my biological construct. And I'm not even going to get into how many orders I screwed up, or the ones I tripped and dropped all over the customer.

I was amazed that my boss had kept me on for as long as he had. But his reasoning was that he had apparently hired me _knowing_ that training me was going to be at least some degree of a pain in the ass. And somehow, amazingly, it seemed that I was not the _worst_ employee he had ever hired. I was always on time, great with customers, and even when I screwed up, I always tried my best. These were my personal '_strengths_,' according to my boss. In any case, despite the fact that it wasn't my dream job and I embarrassed myself in front of my fellow crew members on a day-to-day basis, I was just grateful to be there. Do you even _know_ how hard it is to get a job in this economy?

Anyway, that Thursday, I was sitting on my usual bench on lunch break with my discounted dollar chicken sandwich and a chocolate frosty. I seriously needed to stop getting lunch from this place. It wasn't the _worst_ in the fast food business—though I thought the Baconator could give McDonalds a run for their money—but it still wasn't great for you. However, I couldn't find the motivation to raid the refrigerator at home every morning and pack my own. Plus, this was probably the only thing I was going to eat all day, so using that logic I'd most likely burn off the calories… Yeah, I seriously needed to get lunch somewhere else from now on.

It was while pondering and sequentially berating myself for my personal bad nutrition habits and lack of motivation to exercise that I noticed the scenery in front of me acting strangely. My lunch bench was situated on the median between the road, and the Wendy's restaurant, and could almost be mistaken for one of those display gazebo things you see at the entrances to suburban housing developments and such every now and then—which actually don't make too much sense to me, because why would you build something functional with a purpose it will never actually serve? Anyway, my bench was situated on a small, brick laid terrace surrounded by perfectly manicured circular, green bushes, and stiff, level cut grass, tirelessly pruned with an almost robotic precision by day workers every other week. The perfection of it actually repulsed me, but what can you do?

It seemed that my desire for imperfection was starting to manifest because the cookie cutter bushes, all round and lined up side by side on their respective perfectly proportioned piles of red-brown mulch, were starting to become distorted. It was somewhat like when you open a picture in Photoshop and start screwing around with it, warping everything and swirling the colors. That was what was happening to the scene in front of me. Horrified, I stood up, adjusting the shoulder strap of my messenger bag so it wouldn't fall off as I did, and then my hands immediately flew to my purple, plastic framed glasses. They were transition lenses, so in the sunlight, they turned black and shaded my eyes, changing the world's colors into shady inverts of their natural counterparts. However, holding them close to my face, I could see that they were perfectly spotless—a rare occurrence but not impossible.

Without my glasses, I'm practically blind. I can't make out street signs, or faces, and all the colors blur together. Some of my old friends in middle school used to tease me and say that my eyesight was worse than Itachi's from our favorite Japanese TV series. What made that statement ironic was that they were probably absolutely right… Frankly, I could never understand how Itachi avoided running into telephone poles, but it probably had something to do with badass ninja powers. Either that, or they just omitted all the embarrassing accidents out of the manga and the anime. Can't have Itachi's badass image getting ruined, can they? Nobody would watch the show. But that's not important. The world was swimming before me, and I had no idea what was wrong with me. Because there _had_ to be something wrong with me. Why else would reality be distorted? Maybe it was something wrong with my retinas? Or…oh god, has my brain finally broken?

I shoved my glasses back onto my face and began to dig frantically through my bag for my cellphone, shoving aside my headphones and grabbing onto the slick, square shaped Apple product. My mom had bought me a case with pink, happy butterflies all over it—her idea of a joke, but I couldn't find the motivation to buy a new one. And, because of that, and the fact that I was sentimental for my old Motorola Razor flip phone, I'd tied on some cutesy Mt. Fuji phone charms I'd gotten at the Japanese immersion camp I'd attended for two summers. My mom hated it.

Before I could start dialing the hospital though, I felt an unmistakable _pull_. It was hard to explain, and it happened so quickly that before the feeling could even register completely, I was sent flying through what felt like a vacuum of empty space. I couldn't move, I couldn't scream, I couldn't breathe, and I couldn't _see_ anything. It was like a deep, empty black void had swallowed me up and I felt pressure on every side of me closing in rapidly. And call me stupid for thinking it in a situation like this, but I imagined that if the magical world of Harry Potter actually existed, this would be what 'apparating' felt like. All I could do was hope and pray that I came out on the other side in one piece…if there _was_ another side. Maybe this horrible pressure would just keep getting worse and worse until it crushed me. Maybe I would suffocate to death. Maybe—

And that was when I came gasping and screaming back into the universe. Sweet, earthy scented air rushed into my lungs, and I coughed, choking on it, trying to get as much as I could. Sounds kind of like one of those fanfictions where the character is magically reincarnated, huh? But no, that would be too convenient. I was still me, unfortunately. Same hands, tiny, with short, stubby fingers and chipped black nail polish, same uneven dark brown hair which was coming down from the tight bun I'd tied it back into in messy flyaway strands, and still garbed in my infamous French-fry scented Wendy's uniform consisting of a red polo shirt tucked into black slacks under a black and white pinstriped apron—it also came equipped with a dorky looking Dave Thomas Foundation for Adoption endorsing visor cap—all compulsory attire for my place of work. It was obvious that I was still me, but the strangest thing, sitting across from me in a candlelit room lined with tatami mats, breathing almost as haggardly, was the spitting image of what was clearly myself.

But, getting my initial terror and breathing issues under control gradually, I began to pick out some major differences. One, this stranger's hair falls down her back and over her shoulders like a waterfall—the same color and consistency of my own, except I had chopped off all mine years ago in a rage-fueled neurotic episode. Two, her face is the same general shape as mine except less round and more angular. Three, our general features are the same, except this girl who resembles me lacks any and all body fat. She looks like she could be a body builder, actually. Her arms—which are completely absent of any flab, might I add—are toned, and muscular, though not outrageously so. She's…extremely attractive. Though, as I observe her more closely, I can see countless spidery white scars marring that attractiveness and though she isn't white as a sheet like me, the dark circles around her eyes are even darker than my insomniatic purple. In short, it looks like she's been through hell and back…but so have I.

Before I can even open my mouth to ask the doppelgänger who—or _what_—the hell she is, she speaks in a haggard whisper, an almost manic grin spreading across her face. And that's not even what draws my attention, it's the way in which she speaks that bothers me, "_I…I finally did it. You're really…here._" Japanese. No doubt about it. I mean, I could read somewhat, and I could speak it, but not fluently, and I could get a vague idea of what two people were conversing about if they were speaking slowly enough, but that was pretty much it.

I knew enough to ask her, "_What the hell is this? Who are you, and where am I?_"

She smiled again, and leaned towards me. She looked like she was about to speak, but a strange look came over her, her features freezing for a moment before coughing with a gurgling sound, and blood poured out between her full lips. She coughed again, more violently this time and it sprayed all over me. Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not a squeamish person. My mom once ripped open her back by falling onto a glass table, and I was the one who mopped up the blood. Afterwards in the emergency room, I held her hand and watched as they stitched her up without feeling even the slightest bit nauseous. The wounds were deep enough that I could see the sinew of muscles beneath the torn skin and if I looked closely enough, I could almost count the individual fat cells exposed. It was gross, and I wouldn't want to touch it, but it didn't repulse me or cause me to break down into hysterics as I did when the mirror image's blood touched me. For some reason, watching someone so similar to myself literally begin to choke on their own blood was a bit emotionally scarring and I screamed with horror and revulsion.

But after the initial moment of shock and abhorrence, I began to gather my senses. This person was perhaps the reason I was here. This person was dying in front of me, and I was acting like a scared little girl—which, technically, I _was_, but I hated to act like it. And so I gathered her up in my arms and did the first thing that occurred to me, and trembled out, "S-somebody, h-help! _Help_! N-no—" I broke off, switching dialects awkwardly after remembering how the girl had spoken, and a momentary pause of recalling the right phrase later, I shouted my head off like no tomorrow, "…**T-tasukete**! **DAREKA,** **TASUKETE**!" I repeated the phrase, hearing my desperate howls reverberate past the walls of the dark lit room throughout the house.

Naturally, since I'd hollered loud enough to wake the dead, and just about everyone else in the neighborhood, I felt relief as the sliding door was wrenched open, but when I saw the face on the other side of it, I couldn't help but stare openly and let out the seldom used title, "…Dad?"

Incomprehension was mirrored on the man's face, and, taking another good look, I realized that it _couldn't_ be him. I probably wasn't in a position to judge, since the guy had been absent in my life for nigh on sixteen years, but the last time I _had_ seen him he hadn't looked…well…like _this_. For one thing, the beer gut was gone, and his long, brown hair was combed up _neatly_ into a high ponytail, straight bangs framing either side of his meticulously shaven face. But I think the most dramatic difference was the eyes. Sure, they were the same hazel green that I remember, but they lacked the usual haze of stupidity that comes with several years of indulging in brain cell killing narcotics and booze. Instead, he actually looked well groomed, in very good shape—just as the girl convulsing in my arms—and very _intelligent_. It was mystifying.

The man—because there was no way in hell this was _my_ father—only paused for a second before darting into the room and sweeping the girl out of my arms, with the clear order, "_Come_."

I didn't need to be told twice, and stumbled to my feet, jogging after him to keep up with his pace. I was utterly bemused, because, as far as I knew, my idiot paternal gene giver didn't know a word of Japanese, and, watching his movements, it wasn't the usual stumbling shuffle of my silly, inebriated, deadbeat dad, but the grace of a predator stalking its prey…surreal. If there was anything that proved this man was not my father, then this was it. The straw that broke the camel's back. And, switching my questioning gaze back to the girl in his arms, it was painfully obvious that the girl was not me. But at the same time…

It was as if someone had turned the world backwards and put in two clones who had led completely different lives. Like an alternate universe. And, emerging from the extensively traditional Japanese styled dwelling, I ventured to guess that's _exactly_ what this place was. Some ass-backwards version of my world…but different. As I trailed behind the man, my mind raced from the horrifying possibility, and I shook my head, wondering to myself over and over, '_Why? Why _now_ of all times does something extraordinary happen to me as soon as I just want to be left alone?_' And then the thought, after a terrifying acceptance jolts my mind, '_…This is all really happening._'

I'm hardly aware through my dark inner musings, but then the man flings an arm out and presses us both up against the wall of a dimming alleyway, shrouding us both in shadows as some figures pass by on the main street and jolting me out of my head. When they were gone, he dragged me along the back street, and that's when I realized that we're trying to be discrete here. After all, what would people think if they saw a near identical clone of this man's daughter following them around? It made sense to want to hide the situation…but I got the feeling that maybe this girl's father knew a little bit more about what was going on here than I did…

However, whenever I attempted to speak, he'd jerk up his forefinger in an absolute signal for silence, his eyes deadly serious. Again, with the face of my father, it was surreal. Yet another sure sign that the two were anything but one and the same…

My heart hadn't stopped racing erratically since I'd got here. I couldn't stop staring at the progressively colorless girl in the man's arms, the blood dribbling down her chin vividly red against the stark white. She'd stopped breathing for a few seconds, but started back up again a torturous moment later. Whoever she was, the one thing that stood out to me was that she was a fighter, through and through. Everything, from her appearance, to the expression on her face as she slowly died in the man's arms demonstrated this fact. And for some reason, that thought—of her dying—spurred me on to nudge the man's arm urgently as we hid in the shadows once more, and despite his rule of silence I whispered, "_Hurry_."

He looked at me for a long moment, and a flash of confliction danced in his eyes before it fled and he simply gave me a nod, gesturing with his chin around the corner. He made no hesitation on adjusting the girl, and banging with his fist on the back door of some establishment. I could see a huge mess of thick, round, electronic wires feeding out into some sort of loud, clattering generator, so the fist-banging was covered up rather nicely and couldn't be overheard by anyone down either side of the back alley. It was opened by an irritable looking woman whose face I knew almost as well as my own.

However, this time I knew better than to call her by the time beaten title 'Mom?' because just as it was with the other two, she _wasn't_ her. She seemed even younger than she usually looked, with not a speck of grey in her hair, and it was darker—the dark brown I remember from my childhood—from before she went blond. She was often mistaken for my sister when I was younger, but with this woman—obviously a good five or six years younger than my mother—it looked like an actual possibility. The defining difference between the two, however, was a long, pale white scar stretching right down over her eye, and leaving it crippled in a constant squint, displaying only a sliver of the pale white iris underneath. It made the familiar, ice-blue evil-eyed look she gave us even fiercer than it did on my mom. And it only took one look from the girl, to the man, to me for her to swoop the girl up into her arms wordlessly, and slam the door in our faces.

We stood there for a moment, just staring at the blank, indiscernible door in silence. The man was the first to move, seeming to forget my presence entirely as he rubbed his face with his hands before using his fingers to comb his bangs back, leaning back against the wall and staring up at the sky—a sure sign of stress. He then slid down the wall to sit beside the door with his knees bent, his arms resting almost leisurely on them despite the tension easily detected from the tautness of his muscles, and seemed to be settled to wait for a long time… As I studied him, I noticed that he looked younger than my dad too, just as the woman had looked younger than my mom. Again, it was the strangest thing…but in the end, I found myself wandering over to slide down the wall beside him in much the same posture.

He turned his head to stare at me openly and I sent him my own discerning stare in return. Eventually, since neither of us seemed to be good conversation starters, I just held out my hand with the customary greeting, "_…Nice to meet you._"

He stared from my face to my hand as if seeing me was just about as surreal as it was seeing him, before shaking it somewhat uncertainly and stating what I assumed to be his name, "_Riki._"

I couldn't help but let out a bark of skeptical laughter. It almost sounded like 'Ricky,' my dad's nickname. But the man only gave me strange look, and I had to think about my words before explaining, "_You look like my dad. But you are not my dad._"

At that, he reached out and touched my chin, removing the Wendy's visor and tilting my head from side to side, "_And you look like my daughter_…" He gave me one more long, piercing look before releasing my face, and repeating my words, "_But you are not my daughter._"

I frowned and asked him quietly, "…_Do you know why this is happening?_"

He looked away towards the other side of the alley, and answered without looking at me, "_Even before you appeared…Asahi was not well. Not in body…but in mind._"

Well, that explains a lot. Not. But again, I couldn't help but laugh at the irony, "_That sounds familiar…_"

He sent me a curious look, "_You as well?_"

"_I'm getting better._" I protested, but at his probing look, I relented, "_But that depends… Is any of this really happening, or not?_"

He sent another look up at the sky and replied dubiously, "_This is a very good question…_"

At his silence, I prompted him, "_So she's a little crazy. Can you name one person who isn't?_"

The corner of his mouth curled up in a mournful smile at that and his eyes were drawn back to me, "_Another good question. I suppose I can't._"

"_Anyway,_" I tilt my head at him, probing for information once again, "_it warrants concern, but what does madness have to do with any of this? I still don't understand. What is going on? What is happening to your Asahi, and why was I brought here?_"

He looked away towards the other wall of the alley again, and replied quietly, "_That, I do not know…_" His eyes flashed back to me, "_But I _do_ know my daughter. I may have a few viable theories if you give me some time to think…_"

I pinched my lips together quickly and gave a short nod, to which he sent me another 'almost smile' and went back to staring hard at the cracked, plaster wall of the alley, as if trying to count all the scrapes and blemishes on it. After ten minutes of pure staring and ten minutes of pure agony for me, he finally spoke, "_We are in the midst of a war between two powerful clans—one that we cannot avoid. All three of our clan's compounds have been either destroyed or compromised. This is our last refuge. We cannot go anywhere else without risking disease, starvation, and mass losses to our numbers… We are _stuck_ between the Uchiha, and the Senju._"

I blinked, "_…Uchiha…Senju…_ Wait, what?" I stare, my eyes widening exponentially. I had to have misheard him, "This can't be…" This is impossible. I shook my head at him slowly, nausea and horror pooling in my gut, "You can't be serious."

His brow furrowed in confusion, "_…I can't understand you._"

I shook my head again, quickly, eyes wide, standing, and clarifying, gesticulating with my hands with body language as an added bonus, "_Uchiha, and Senju. You mean _ninja_ clans? _The_ Uchiha and Senju?_"

He stood as well, watching my legs begin to tremble, struggling to hold up my weight, as he nodded, "_Yes…so you have heard of them in your world as well? Perhaps Asahi's theories were right after all…_"

I think that was the point where my knees finally gave out, hitting the ground with a jarring jolt to my system. I cradled my head in my hands as if protecting it from hailstones, "No, no, no, no, no—this _can't_ be happening. This can't be— Why? Why _now_?"

I felt hands on my shoulders and a familiar voice speaking a name that sounded alike, but was not mine, "_Asahi! Asahi, get ahold of yourself_—"

As I looked up at the man who was not my father slowly, a strange heat flash mixed with an overwhelming feeling of dread overtook me, and that could only mean one thing. Hoarsely, I whispered, "_Careful…I'm going to be sick._"

No sooner did I brace myself for the inevitable with both hands spread on the ground, did Riki move with an almost inhuman speed out of the trajectory of my half-digested chicken sandwich as it came up with a bunch of stinging stomach bile. I choked and coughed, heaving once again and brought up even more of the horrible stuff—probably the remnants of the Wheaties I ate that morning. Then again, you probably don't want to hear about the disgusting contents of my stomach, so I'll leave it at 'it came up my throat and landed in the dirt with a _splat_…' There were probably only a few things in the world I hated more than puke, and those were: Other people's puke, _myself,_ in the action of puking…and spiders. So gods help us all if people started puking _spiders_…suffice to say I would not be happy about it.

As I finished heaving, I felt a rough, but warm hand on my back. I had no idea why—after all, I'd never allow myself to feel something so potentially hazardous for my _own_ father—but I _trusted_ this man. He seemed dependable. And after the horrible act of emptying my stomach was through, I wiped my mouth and nose weakly and blinked tears out of my eyes, managing to choke out, "_I believe you…but I don't want to. Because if what you're saying is the truth, this is the last place I should_ ever_ be—for _my_ safety,_ and_ for everyone else's. What the hell was that girl thinking? Is she out of her mind? Does she hate me?_"

He didn't reply for a moment, as I stared at my puke flecked hands with disgust and wiped them off on my Wendy's apron, but then he said quietly, "_I think she brought you here to help us… She believed that—on the event that her experiments would succeed—you would have some ability that she did not…that could help change our fate._"

I wiped my nose again, and winced because I think a chunk of something got stuck in my sinuses when it was coming up, and I told him through a thick voice, "_Well, she was sorely mistaken. If you people are ninja, then each of you can do more than_ ten_ of me put together could accomplish. All I can do in this place is _die_._" Looking over my shoulder to stare into his expectant face, I shot at him with a sudden vindictive feeling, "_There is no real ninjutsu left in my world! No ninja! Wars are fought on completely different playing fields than they are here, and I personally have no clue how to fight in one! I am no hero! I am _nobody_! And for all intents and purposes, I am already _dead_ and _dying_!_"

At that, Riki's face went hard and he withdrew the comforting hand as if I were something poisonous. He stood to his full height and stared down at me with a cold mask, "…_If what you say is true,_" he paused, then—faster than a snake striking at its prey—there was a strange, deadly sharp-looking knife in his hand, and it was pointed right at my nose, "…_would you like me to speed up the process?_"

'_This is in no way how I expected my day would end up this morning…_' Was the first thought to pass through my mind.

At my stunned silence, Riki crouched down in front of my face, his own still a mystery, but when our eyes met, I had the most horrible realization. He would do it. I knew he would because I _felt_ it. Intent so strong, I could almost see him shoving the knife right through my eyeball. He began to speak again in a slow calm voice, but I barely heard it, "_My _daughter_ is dying. My wife's clan—my only _family_—is on the verge of utter annihilation, and yet…_" The knife trailed down my face, all the way down to point at the nook of my collarbone, "_I have not heard even one of them make such a pathetic sound as you…_"

He was right, of course. I _was_ pathetic. Compared to anyone who took up ninjutsu as a profession, I was the cowardly scum of the earth. Even before this, I was pathetic. My stupid, irrelevant attempts to get my life back on track—all useless. What was even the point of it, again? I'd probably end up working at Wendy's for the rest of my life, and hating every minute of it. And hadn't I once wished for this? Being spirited away to some other universe so I wouldn't have to deal with the problems in mine? Wasn't this what I had pleaded for over and over with a transient God that had seemingly left the world to rot? I think he may have just had a sense of humor.

The sharp pain at the base of my neck is what cleared my racing thoughts, and my wide eyes met the backwards version of my father's, "…_Do you _truly_ wish for death?_"

My reaction was immediate. A mixture of loathing and self-disgust churned in my gut, and I clenched my jaw tightly. My hand flew out suddenly with the strangled cry, "NO!" aiming for the man's face, I pushed it away with one hand, and my other pushed away his wrist holding the knife—causing it to tear my skin, but I could feel that the wound was shallow. I'd survive. More importantly, I tore the knife away from his hand, and jumped to my feet, putting distance between us and aiming the knife at him with one hand while putting pressure on the gash on my neck with the other. Even though it was shallow, it bled profusely, making my skin slick and sticky…let's just say I'm glad my shirt was red.

Riki got to his feet easily, and I braced myself for a fight that I was bound to lose…but I was stunned to find him smiling fully at me, "_That was a risky move. Had I fought back, you'd be dead. You're a brawler type. You fight as if every battle is to be your last._" His grin widened, "…_Just like me._"

I sent him a bizarre look, and replied faintly, "_…You can tell something like that just by getting slapped in the _face_?_"

"_It was the same with your_—" His grin faltered, and he finished in a more subdued tone, "_It was the same with my _wife_._"

I raised both brows and replied dryly, the adrenaline fading from my system swiftly, "…_It would appear that some things _never_ change._"

He looked like he was about to question me about the remark, but was cut off by the door swinging open with a rusty creak, "_I've got her stabilized_—" The woman that resembled my mother broke off, staring between the both of us with her single good eye, and the knife I still had aimed at her husband. She observed me carefully for a moment, seeming to disqualify me as a threat within seconds before looking at Riki with that evil eye that seemed to be a universal constant—except in this case it was more literal—and she said something quickly in scathing Japanese, so fast I couldn't catch it. But Riki winced, so I imagine it had to be pretty bad… However, what she said next was clearly discernible as she gestured to us, "_Inside. Both of you. _Now_._"

* * *

The girl's name was Asahi.

It was strange, because nobody asked me what _my_ name was. They just automatically started calling me _hers_. But if they were to have asked, I would've told them that my name was _Ashley_. It was strange. They were similar, and yet completely different. Asahi meant something like the morning sun, and mine meant something along the lines of a grove of Ash trees. And then there were the parents, which was even stranger. Riki's name was like a Japanglish version of my dad's nickname, and the woman…her name was Mauri. Now, _my_ mother's name was Joscelyn. Not even close, right? Well, there's a story behind this one.

My mother was born in Thailand and grew up in Japan for the first ten years of her life. This is because my grandparents both worked for the CIA and they were doing god knows what over there until they got divorced. You probably think I'm bullshitting you right now, but I swear, everything I'm putting down here is the truth. Remember? Truth is stranger than fiction? I can't make this shit up. But I digress…the midwife who delivered my grandmother's baby was part Japanese, and aptly named Mauri. My grandmother loved the name so much, that she decided to make it my mother's _middle_ name. And so there you have it. Everything comes full circle… It was _strange_.

And so there I was, sitting at the bedside of a dying girl hooked up to a strange monitor system in the back room of some odd techy facility while the two parents spoke to each other in hushed voices out of my earshot. Even if they'd been standing right next to me though, they were speaking too rapidly back and forth for me to understand…however, I think they were fighting. It made sense. Seeing them together was just too strange for me. My mom and dad had split when I was around two, and then it was just me and her. I'd heard enough stories though. At times my dad would just randomly disappear, and then lie about it when he got back. He'd go off into rages and scare my mom half to death, but as far as I know, he never raised a hand against her. Not that it makes it any better. Eventually, she put her foot down and sent him away because she didn't want him around me. She was a mother bear, and anyone she deemed threatening was not allowed near her child. I know this from experience. History often repeats itself. Especially in families.

Apparently this mom was no different. She kept her good eye on me at all times as she watched me like a hawk from over Riki's shoulder. I imagine if I even made a move to _poke_ Asahi, I'd probably lose the finger before it even got to her. Therefore, I was very uncomfortable sitting anywhere near the comatose girl, but this was where Riki had situated me, and I felt that an equally unpleasant consequence would await me if I stood up and tried to move elsewhere… Talk about stuck between a rock and a hard place…

Eventually Mauri's voice began to raise to the familiar screech that I knew better than most ever would, and even though she was talking too quickly for me to catch everything, I could make out the words, '**Okaa-sama**,' '**Ichizouku**,' '**On'nanoko**,' and '**_Zettai_**** saigai**'—'Honored Mother,' 'The clan,' 'The girl,' and '_Absolute_ disaster.' Whatever it was, it didn't sound good, and while Mauri looked torn between livid, and a desire to cry, Riki looked nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. They both stared at me with indiscernible expressions on their faces, as if waiting for me to say something.

In the end, I just shook my head, "_Don't ask for my opinion. I can't understand half of what you're saying anyway._" But they just continued to stare at me, and just when it was about to become creepy, I changed my mind, addressing Riki, "_Okay, you said we're right in the middle of a potential war with the Uchiha and the Senju, right? If we just sit here and yell at each other, it's just the same as lying down on our backs and waiting to die. We just established outside in that alley that neither of us wants that. As they say where I come from, we need to stop running around like chickens with our heads cut off and _do_ something about this._"

Both the older adults sent each other a meaningful look, and it was Mauri that spoke to me next, keeping her expression stern, but it looked like she was struggling, "…_It's not that simple._"

I felt my head droop, and I sighed, "_It never is…_"

The corner of her lip curled up, but it reminded me more of a scowl than an expression of amusement, "_There is conflict within the clan. The elders, my mother included, will not stand for_…" She looked at me, then to Asahi and her face seemed to go dead, "…_this_."

"_And what exactly _is_ this?_" I challenged her to elaborate.

Mauri stared at her daughter's prone form with grim disapproval masking her anxiety, "…_The result of forbidden jutsu no doubt._" Her sea blue eye, and her pearly white slit darted to me and seemed to analyze everything about me, "_You are not supposed to exist in this world. That much is clear to my eyes. Nature is simply trying to reestablish balance_…"

I suddenly felt panic, and I passed alarmed glances between her and Asahi, before shooting at her, "_Does that mean she's going to _die_?_"

Riki winced and Mauri scowled, "_…Not on my watch. The machines are keeping her alive for now, but it seems that her life force is being drained steadily by an outside party._" Both her eyes narrowed, "_…Most likely _you_._"

My eyes widened and the legs of my stool screeched back as I stood and backed away from the girl in horror, "_No, I… I can't… I…didn't mean to—_"

"_Like I said,_" Mauri's face was stone, "_it is simply _nature_ doing its _job_._"

I stared at her incredulously, "_Nature? What does that even have to do with _any_ of this? So it kills one to save the other? What kind of horrible logic is that?!_"

"_It has nothing to do with killing one _or_ saving the other!_" She thundered in response, "_Nature's _only_ concern is keeping the balance of _power_—_my_ Asahi is dying because _you_ are too _weak_!_" I stared at her, stunned, as Mauri went on to explain viciously, "_It is _stealing_ her life-force _from_ her and leveling it between the two of you _equally_! The only problem is that once the process is complete, the stress will be too much for Asahi's body to handle on its own and she _will_ die!_"

As my mind processed the information slowly, I sunk back down to the stool I had previously vacated, and I cradled my head in my hands, overwhelmed with guilt. Still, I tried to protest, "_I…I didn't ask for this. I wish I could make it stop, but I…I…_"

There was silence at first, but then it was Riki's voice that spoke next, "_But you _can_._" I looked up to stare at him curiously, and so did Mauri. He was smiling as if the sudden inspiration had just hit him like a pile of bricks—in which case, incidentally, I think he'd just shrug it off, "_Don't you two _see_? The answer is so clear. It's staring us right in the _face_._" He directed a finger at me in a eureka-esque pose, "_All you need to do is _beat_ nature!_"

"_Umm_…" All I could do was stare, and Mauri looked like she wanted to either pull her hair out, or throttle Riki with one of the heavy looking machines packed about in the cramped back room—probably both.

"_You foolish _child_! When will you learn that you cannot decide _every_ battle with a fight to the death!_" She screeched at him, "_Moran! Always thinking with your—_"

Riki sent the woman a patient look—these outbursts must have been frequent—and told her, still pointing towards me, and smiling dashingly at her—all dimples, "_I meant that she can beat nature at its own _game_, my _Lovely_, _Dearest _Wife._" Nicely played, Romeo. He went on to explain, gesturing towards me widely, "Think_ about it. If she can gain her _own_ power before Asahi's is completely syphoned away, the natural balancing process will have no need to continue._" He grinned at me, "_Each milestone you pass will bring Asahi closer to _recovery_!_"

Mauri's eyes widened, "_But…that's—_" She eyed me skeptically in a way that made me feel somewhat insulted even without her next statements, "_It's obvious she's completely untrained! She looks like she's never worked hard a day in her life! How on _earth_ do you expect to get her to Asahi's level in the time we have left—_"

"_And approximately how much time is that, would you say?_" Riki interjected smoothly.

Mauri looked at him, to Asahi's heart monitor, and then down to the floor, muttering unintelligible numbers to herself that I'm sure were some sort of horribly complex equations for a moment, before snapping her head back up and whispering hopelessly, "_…two or three years at most._"

Riki moved his hand to cup his chin thoughtfully as his hazel green eyes swept over me in the same sort of analyzing stare Mauri had sent me. It was unnerving, and even though his face morphed slowly into a smirk instead of shaking his head with disgust, I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, "…_That's _more_ than enough time._"

Mauri shook her head, "_Even if you can pull it off, Riki, what are we going to say to the _elders_?_" She gestured skeptically at Asahi and I, "_What do you think they'll do if they find out?! You know better than anyone else that my Mother is not known for being a kind and understanding woman!_"

Riki was quiet and watched Asahi for a moment before he turned his attention to me, once again, observing critically before striding over to do so in closer detail. Now, I'm not exactly okay with people invading my personal space, and when—quick as lighting—he removed the hair tie failing to hold back my messy bun, I'm ashamed to say I let out a pathetic-sounding squeak of protest. That wasn't the end of it though. After examining my uneven strands of just-above-the-shoulder hair, and frowning at the fading bleached highlights, he turned my chin from side to side and frowned even more. When it came to stretching one of my pudgy cheeks out ridiculously, I'd had enough and slapped his hands away, "_Would you _stop_?_" Then snatched my hair tie back irritably, yanking on my hair again, returning it to its tight bun, and getting it out of my face…for a while at least.

However, instead of seeming apologetic, Riki just asked me casually, "_How good at lying are you, Asa?_"

I blinked slowly, "…_Does my _life_ depend on it?_"

"_Yes_." They both answered immediately.

I stared at the two of them for a long second, the cogs in my brain whirring. This wasn't going to end well, "_If you're thinking what I _think_ you're thinking…you're absolutely _insane_._" Well, maybe that was a _bit_ of an exaggeration, but it was true that I was an accomplished liar. Getting into shit with my mom for years taught me how to stretch the truth; Now, when my stepdad—an ex-marine interrogator, among other things—was added to the equation, I was forced to refine my skill to a whole new _level_. Revisiting the fact that both my grandparents worked for the CIA, and other…less pleasant things…let's just say deception had a tendency of running through the family, "_But coming from someone who specializes in that sort of thing—and I only say this for a lack of a better alternative…it _might_ just be crazy enough to work. But I have to ask…how far are you willing to go with this?"_

"_As far as it takes._" Riki responded immediately. His face was serious, and confident, though Mauri looked nervous.

"_Arrangements will need to be made._" She reminded him, looking between me and the comatose girl critically, "_Stories fabricated, memorized, and Asahi will need to be hidden away while she recovers…_" She then eyed me distastefully, "_…I'll see what I can do with her appearance. Those oulandish clothes will need to be_ burned_ as soon as possible..._" The way she was sizing me up made me feel _horribly_ self-conscious…and a little bit like a meal about to be consecutively eaten and digested…

I was doomed from the very start.

* * *

**Tasukete** = Help

**Dareka** = Somebody/someone

**Shameless self-insert, people.**

**If you like that sort of thing, great. If not, well, not so great, but I hope you keep reading anyway.**

**And, unlike most of my stories, I've actually got a plan for how I want this one to go, so hopefully I can get these chapters out in a timely fashion.**

**Anyway, this is a little different than anything else I've ever written, so I'd like to know what you people think.**

**Review or PM, I don't really care which.**


	2. God, Save Me

You'd think for a Naruto weeb like me, training to be a ninja would be dream come true. And, despite the circumstances under which this was taking place, hey, I had to admit, it was a bit of a silver lining to all of the crazy fucked up shit that had landed me here in the first place. Okay, no, not really. But in the eighteen years of crazy fucked up shit that had happened to me so far, sue me if I'd learned to see the bright side of a bad situation. Because if all you see is the horrible, fucked up shit in the world, it just gets a _whole_ lot worse. Trust me.

And hey, don't get me wrong. I wasn't a squeamish person. Not with blood, guts, or pointy objects—or in this case…needles. During my time in the nut house, I'd been poked, prodded, and penetrated with enough of them to cure me of any residual fear of the things until I could just watch them stick me with an IV with a resigned sort annoyance. Not to mention I had what they called 'small,' 'deep' veins which were often quite a challenge to tap. I'd ended up looking like a used human pincushion on many occasions, and yet, I ended up not really giving too much of a shit. Needles? Ha. I laugh in the face of such things. However, in this case, it was what was _inside_ the syringe that made me go completely bat shit insane.

"No!" I struggled as Riki held my arms, and kicked at the irritated Mauri with my legs, "Are you fucking crazy? There's no way! I won't! You can't make me!"

She simply gave me a look, "Yes. I can."

And as she drew nearer with absolutely no pity in her eyes, in desperation, I wrenched my neck around to beg at Riki, "Please. You can't let her do this! I'll die!"

"No you won't." He assured me with a smile, "It'll just make you a little sick—"

"A little?" I gaped at him, "A _little_?"

Mauri let out a scoff, "You should've lied and told her it was something herbal…"

"Technically, that's not a lie—"

"Shut up and hold her still!" She barked at him as she dodged my flailing legs with a look of pure impatience on her face.

I _felt_ like I was dying.

Have you ever felt like every _single_ cell in your body is crying out in burning agony? I'd never given it that much thought before, but have you ever felt your organs start to shut down, one, by one? I could now say that I have. And _no_, it's not even because I was training my ass off, or pushing my body to the limit—although, you could say in a way that I was… It's because I was lying on a bed, in a basement, being injected with years' worth of the Tobibito's official poison conditioning program, which supposedly Mauri had condensed down to just _three_ _months_. Now, while the actual process of this was gradual, and could take _years_ with the worst symptom maybe being a mild fever, my own immunizations were condensed into a much shorter period of constant injections and rejections. I repeat—_years_, of poison immunizations shoved into a three month period. That's _three_ fucking months of feeling like I'm going to fucking die—and as my two subjugators will admit, there were a good many close calls. But that's okay. Apparently it's just collateral damage.

And if I did die? Oh well. There was actually a good chance that it would _help_ Asashi…but then again, there was an equally greater chance of _my_ death meaning _her_ death. They didn't want to experiment. Though they did a good job of holding a bluff… I believe there was even one point where they had three different poisons raging through my system at once, but I couldn't be sure. I was delirious at the time. Actually, I was delirious _most_ of the time. Oh, and remember how I said I hated puking? Well…let's just say I got over that.

If only it could do me some good, but no cigar—the poison was in my blood, not my stomach. There's no puking that shit up. Well, I suppose that's not entirely true. There was a time where a poison targeting my lungs almost killed me for real. Though Mauri kept my failing organs under strict supervision and healed them accordingly, there were times when it just wasn't enough.

Mauri used to be one of the best medic ninja in the clan before she got demoted for insubordination. Don't ask me what it was—she always avoided the subject, but whenever it did come up in my rare non-delirium filled 'breaks' and Riki happened to be nearby, I always thought I saw him looking a bit guilty… But that was a mystery for another time. In any case, Mauri kept up the study even after losing her rank and being assigned to tech support. She was a bit of a mad scientist, actually, if you didn't deduce that already…

You see, she was actually a bit of an _extremist_. When Riki said 'whatever it takes' when I'd asked him to what lengths he would go to put on this farce, it seemed that Mauri had taken it as a challenge. So, when Riki said 'whatever it takes' Mauri had arrived at the conclusion that she was going to go _above_ and _beyond_ what it takes. The result had me strapped down to a medical gurney in her lonely outpost building/improvised laboratory, and undergoing various appearance modification 'therapies' along with my poison conditioning. For example, I woke up from an especially rough 'treatment' one day with my hair grown out like Asahi's—my tacky highlights gone and the funky, uneven cut obliterated to match the comatose girl's long, mostly straight curtains of brown hair. And that wasn't the only part of me to be altered…

So I was strapped down to the table, where I was forced to sit still and not cry out as she took a knife to me—affectively recreating all of Asahi's past battle scars. And—since apparently it was what she was taught by _her_ mother—pain builds character, and it would also interfere with the conditioning, so I was denied any anesthetic. They were healed in approximately the correct way to leave the scar, and then the pain would ease immediately, but it still hurt like a bitch. What was worse, all throughout it, Mauri didn't even _flinch_ while inflicting said pain, and what's more…I had the feeling that she got a subtle enjoyment out of it.

Putting the implications of _that_ aside for now, it got even worse… Puking between every thirty minute interval or so—often times more than that even—I found that I'd begun developing a form of Bulimia. Involuntary, mind you—you can't just stop yourself from puking up everything you eat when you've got poison raging through your system almost twenty-four/seven, and even when Mauri set me up on a nutrients/hydration IV drip, it didn't stop my muscles from atrophying or causing my limbs to look like sticks…

So, in conclusion? Ninja training doesn't actually consist of real, kickass training; nothing like going out and climbing trees with your chakra, no learning all these badass martial arts moves, or anything remotely awesome sounding. It's just really, _really_ painful… And the worst part? Despite three months of pushing myself to the very edge just to stay alive, I hadn't gotten _any_ stronger. In fact, I'd only gotten weaker. I couldn't even stand up straight without somebody helping me, I still felt the constant urge to puke up any solid food in my gut, and unfortunately, it didn't stop there…

I felt a certain, deep seeded dread when I'd regained enough strength to make my way back to the main house, clinging to Riki's arm for support. The story around the compound was that I'd gotten nicked with some unknown poison on Asahi's last mission—some intelligence gathering shit where they got ambushed by a couple Senju—and managed to make it back home alright, but ended up 'frothing at the mouth' some time later. Lucky Riki had 'found me' when he did. Not like I wasn't screaming my head off at the time anyway…and I guess Asahi really did froth _something_ up, but it wasn't harmless spittle… When I got to her room, all evidence of the blood she'd coughed up was gone. It was a perfectly deceptive story. The stage was set.

But when I looked in the full-length mirror—that which I'd been dreading ever since I'd left Mauri's lab—I didn't feel like I was capable of acting a part in this obvious tragedy-to-be. I didn't recognize the person staring back at me anymore… You'd think I'd be happy to lose the extra pudge I'd been packing, but with how I looked now, I'd even settle for morbidly obese. _Anything_ was better than looking like a living skeleton with limbs so fragile it looked like I could snap them like twigs… It was a horror show. I belonged with circus freaks.

I was literally terrified to take off my clothes and see what was underneath, but the desire to take a real shower was more pressing. I did not like what I saw. I could count my ribs, and felt the back of my shirt running along the raised spinal ridges of my vertebrae. My wide hip bones jutted out awkwardly, and as I ran my shaking fingers over them, I saw that they too did not escape the purge. My hands were small and the skin was stretched taut over the sharp, bulbous joints of my former sausage fingers. Skeletal hands, like a reaper's. Everything about my body was wrong. Everything felt wrong. Even my sunken eyes were burning and everything was blurry—even without my glasses, I…

I was surprised as I felt tears dripped down my sunken cheeks. Was it really the first time I'd done so since I got here? Wow. I'd held out longer than I thought I would. Instead of feeling pride at the fact, however, it only served to add fuel to the fire, and I ended up letting out a small, soundless sob, sinking down into the small, deep, Japanese styled tub. It's ironic, because my previously more-than-healthy build wouldn't have fit in such a small space. I hadn't even turned the water on yet, the mirror wasn't even steamy, and it already felt too hot to breathe. I was interrupted by a small, hesitant tap on the door.

Composing myself, I called out, "…Yes?"

Again, the tapper hesitated before I heard Riki's voice from behind the door, "You know, Mauri's not one for encouragements… And she has a tendency to treat problems such as this one like science experiments. There's also the fact that she's naturally not very forthcoming with her inner thoughts—not even with me, but I—…on the other hand," He paused, "well, I'd just like to inform you that you're made of tougher stuff than most. There were a couple of times I thought you weren't going to make it, but you pulled through alright, even when the odds were against you. I have to admit, in the beginning, I was afraid that I'd made a mistake in believing in you…but you proved me wrong." I pinched my lips together, trying not to cry, and I couldn't answer. Riki took that as the sign to go on awkwardly, "…In my clan, there is a saying that 'A shinobi is one who endures.' You may not be a shinobi yet…but you certainly fit the description." Again, he was answered with silence, but the tension was eased away slightly, and, deep down, I felt that stupid lingering weeby urge to grin a goofy grin. What a stupid thing—to _want_ to be a ninja, to _crave_ the approval of others…how tragic. In the end, Riki just cleared his throat uncomfortably and went on in a stronger voice, "Well, that aside…uh…good job, Soldier! We'll have you back in tip-top shape in no time, and then the _real_ training will begin. Make sure you're prepared!" And with that, he marched off down the hall.

Well, maybe I _was_ stupid. Call me a glutton for punishment, call me suicidal even—you wouldn't be too far from the mark. But I'll be damned if there wasn't a tiny smile on my lips at the end of Riki's little motivational spiel. There I was, looking all too much like Smeagle from the Lord of the Rings movies as I attempted to grin. I just couldn't help thinking that this was only the beginning—and no doubt it would only get worse. But somehow…that was okay. Remember those silver linings we were talking about? Well, there weren't any, but even without a bright side to the bad situation, I still couldn't wait to see tomorrow. Because I knew I would take each day in stride, take on whatever it threw at me…and _endure_ it.

**Three Weeks Later**

Okay, I call bullshit. Bull. _Shit_.

_Lies_! They were all lies! Being depressed and trying to make myself feel better with a couple of profound optimistic sentiments—okay, sure, that's all fine and dandy. But they were _lies_! I needed something more substantial than just _enduring_ here, okay? I needed an edge! Something to help me out of this horrible situation that I was now in—which was, currently, being hunted down.

I pumped my still horribly skinny legs as fast as my recovering muscles would allow me to go, randomly pushing off from the rough, spiny, bark-covered trees I passed for added momentum, ducking under and jumping over twisting, turning roots that crisscrossed and bent up, rent from the earth, some like miniature mountains. The trees that grew in the valley were taller and more massive than any of the redwoods I'd seen in California where I went with my family to cast my grandfather's ashes. Some of the trunks alone were wide enough to outstretch twenty men holding hands in a circle…which would be a rather odd sight, let me tell you; I'd be afraid I'd walked in on something…uh, personal.

All I was worried about was navigating around them, however. Apparently these trees had been Asahi's playground in her youth. The Senju may have been known as 'The Clan of the Forest,' but the Tobibito were here _first_… Actually, the Tobibito used to have strongholds all around the world, and would migrate periodically. However, when the wars started getting worse, and worse, and _worse_…they ended up abandoning all but six in strategic regions I'd immediately identified on Mauri's history map roughly as the places that would one day become the five great shinobi nations. Pretty ironic, huh?

Well, the stronghold in the Land of Wind was the first to go—abandoned over seventy years ago due to bijuu activity and consequential changing climate in the area, causing great deserts and very sparse oases to form. So that was out. And the next to fall was the Land of Water—also due to climate change, icecaps melting, and, you guessed it, more bijuu activity. Next was the stronghold in the Land of Lightning that was abandoned rather recently due to enemy raider complications—a pair of troublemakers named Ginkaku and Kinkaku apparently thought it would be fun to return from the dead with bijuu superpowers. You just can't compete with that sort of thing. There were similar complications in the Land of Earth, and now, all that was left was the stronghold in the Land of Fire—well…actually that wasn't entirely true. There was one more stronghold—the original Tobibito stronghold—the location of which was kept as such a closely guarded secret, nobody knew where it was anymore. So it wasn't a very good secret if you asked me…

It was fine for a few years. The Tobibito had even traded with the Senju clan among others on a few occasions and relations weren't all happy and grand like that between them and the Uzumaki, but there was a certain 'civility,' protocol that was maintained and followed. Maybe there even could have been friendship between the two clans at some point down the road—until some _idiot_ _kid_ on their side offended our elders and screwed everything up… But even that wasn't too much of a problem until the age old rivals came to town. Uchiha.

Like the Senju, the Uchiha name was enough to send a shiver down any good self-respecting shinobi's back. But at least the Senju could be _reasoned_ with. With the Uchiha, it was a hit or miss. It pretty much depended on whatever mood their leader was in that day. Good mood? He might just let you plead your case before he gutted you. Better say something interesting. Catch his attention—_shiny things!_ Catch him in a bad mood? Well…let's not talk about that right now, shall we? But still, even _they_ could be bearable neighbors on their own. Just don't kill any of them; it'll only piss them off like a hoard of rabid, bat-shit crazy wolverines followed closely by the denizens of several rudely overturned hornets' nests… In short, follow the goddamn rules, and nobody needs to get hurt. Hell, we'd probably get along _famously_ when it came to the shinobi definition of the term 'getting along.' Then again, when you put the _three_ of us together? Oooooh, _fuck_ no…

And that's about the time everything started to go to hell in a hand basket…

Speaking of which, I wasn't exactly on my way to paradise either. My lungs were burning and straining for air—and my poor leg muscles? Let's just say they'd seen better days. I knew I wasn't going to last much longer. But…maybe if I could just find a place to hide? Wait it out? Then I'd be okay. Leave a false trail then double back towards the forest's edge… But did I have time for that? Would my legs hold out that long? Fuck. First option still stands.

"Goddamn it!" I hissed through my teeth, my eyes searching desperately. It was a huge forest. Surely there were places to hide everywhere. But where specifically—

I froze.

About sixty meters to my right—the slightest crackle of leaves. The rest of the forest? Unnaturally quiet. Too late. He'd already found me. No luxury for the perfect hiding spot. Improvise, improvise—there! I darted towards a nearly too small hallow at the base of one of the younger looking mammoths. It was strange, but I found since my near brush with Anorexia I was fitting into smaller and smaller spaces unhampered.

Asahi's clothes hung loosely on me. She seemed partial towards the standard uniform of her clan—long army-grade camouflage pants tucked into light, but sturdy, black combat boots. The typical top was merely an olive green tank tucked in under her double buckled weapon's belt, made of a soft, but again, _sturdy_ material. Special wrappings around my critical breast and torso areas acted as something like a bullet-proof vest, and belted tightly and securely on my arms were black leather guards attached to stretchy utility gloves. It came with a matching camouflage coat as well, but apparently Asahi liked to travel as lightly as possible. The only remotely 'eccentric ninja' thing I wore were the goggles over my eyes. Asahi wore them in place of glasses—smart, considering if they fell off her face in the middle of a battle, she'd be a sitting duck—and of course, I couldn't wear mine if I was going to pretend to be her. They had been promptly confiscated by Mauri—who had become fascinated with figuring out how the transition lenses worked. In any case, she promised me once she came out with a prototype, I'd be the one of the first to have a pair…or maybe my favorite time-old purple ones back. Just maybe. Pseudo-military garb had its charms, but for me, purple was the way to go.

But that wasn't the problem right now. Right now, I had to get away. I held my breath, folding my legs in closer to my chest as I watched the figure touch down in the center of the leaf strewn clearing like a streak of shadow and stand there very still. I forced myself to stay just as motionless and regulated my breathing until it was flowing steadily and soundlessly through my lungs. It calmed my heartbeat somewhat, but in order to slow it down completely, I needed to shut my eyes and imagine I was someplace else; someplace happy, peaceful—someplace that was not _here_.

I imagined myself back in Thailand for my Uncle's wedding, and in an instant, I am there. I remember the beach at night and the impossibly fast little sand crabs that would skitter over my feet if I stood still enough, and then the warm ocean waves that washed up over them and the creatures would duck back into their little holes and hide. My hair is still long back then, but bushy and frizzy from the humidity in the tropical tasting air. I can smell coconuts from the suntan lotion on my skin—left from when I put it on during the day. A warm soothing breeze blows in from the sea, rustling the leaves of the palm trees overhead and I breathe it in, savoring the taste. After that, I wade in up to my chest and reach out with my hands, stirring up the water and watching it come to life, set it ablaze with millions of tiny glowing green lights. I think it might have been something called zooplankton, but I couldn't remember exactly—

I nearly gasped as I felt something strange upon my skin, like goosebumps, breaking me out of the memory and my eyes shot open. As soon as they did, I couldn't help letting out a blood curtailing scream. In an instant, Riki was there, an uncharacteristic feeling of exasperation lacing his features, and he lazily plucked the (hugeuglyfangs_horrifying_) spider from off my skin, chucking callously it over his shoulder where it landed some distance away with a rustle of the falling leaves. And with that, I barreled my way past him out of the hollow, combing through my hair and brushing myself off as if there were more on me, continuing with whimpers of panic and disgust in my native language. Remember how I said I hated spiders? It's more like I'm irrationally terrified of them to the point where if I had to choose between being dumped into a huge vat of them, or dying, I would choose death without even pausing to think about it…

It came down to where I wasn't even listening to Riki's admonishments any longer. I didn't care about the fact that if this hadn't been a training session, I'd be dead, or that my fears were silly compared to what _could_ happen to me out in the field, none of it seemed to matter. It was a fucking _spider_ for the love of—

"_Asa_!" He shook my shoulders roughly, jarring me out of my hysteria, "That's enough!" I stared at him helplessly, my frantic eyes darting to each of the features of his face without recognition. Helpless. The realization seemed to dawn on him then. Completely, utterly helpless. He let out a sigh of disappointment, "...This is a problem."

It was the sigh that brought me out of the haze of hysteria, and my eyes went downcast with shame. I knew more was expected of me if I were to ever help Asahi wake up again. Riki had started his whole 'run for your life' training program enthusiastically, with high hopes, but I knew I'd been a disappointment. I opened my mouth to apologize and promise to do better next time, but as soon as I did, he shushed me, having suddenly gone very still. Everything in the forest was quiet again.

Even in the silence, we stood and listened for the longest moment. I knew better than to make a sound or move a muscle, because I could see every one of Riki's were poised like piano chords waiting to snap, and that could only mean one thing. A whisper on the wind was the only thing to belay what was about to happen next, and then Riki grabbed me from behind, pulling me to his chest with his hand tightly over my mouth and we disappeared into the corner of where a pair of huge roots spread out from one of the gargantuan trees further back away from the clearing—a hiding spot I didn't even notice before in my desperate scan of the area.

There was no longer an unobstructed view of the clearing, but I could see several booted feet touch down silently, like ghosts. I almost gasped in a sharp, involuntary breath of air, but stopped myself to the point where it was like I wasn't even breathing at all. This wasn't a training simulation. This was the real, fucking, deal.

"Spread out." The leader ordered in a sure, confident, but quietly calculated tone, "Search the area."

Amazingly, though I could feel Riki's heartbeat on my back through his chest, it wasn't going haywire. He was _calm_…though the hand he still had across the lower half of my face and the death grip on my arm suggested otherwise. And then I realized that if it was just him, out here alone, he'd probably be fine. He'd have no reason to panic because he wouldn't have a helpless nobody like me with him. I was the biggest liability in the world.

In effort to remedy this, I counted Riki's breaths and matched my own to the calm, steady intervals. My speeding heart gradually slowed to the same steady beat, and the death grip on my arm waned until he let go of it completely and gave me a thumbs-up. Hysteria pooled in me like poison, and I felt the bizarre urge to laugh at the gesture. Only Riki. Then again, he'd probably been in this kind of situation countless times before.

Back in the clearing the enemy's men filed out just as silently as they'd come, one of them even passing directly over us, but you see, that's the beauty of this hiding spot. You'd have to be standing directly in _front_ of us to discover it. But the platoon leader hadn't moved. I still watched his feet where they'd planted themselves amongst the gold, the red, and the brown of the scattered autumn leaves all cluttering the ground. Still, when he _did_ move, not a single crunch, or even a rustle of leaves was heard. According to Riki, there was a kind of technique to it known as 'leaf walking,' and from what I could deduce, it was similar to tree walking, or water walking—though instead of sticking to the surface, it repelled you from it, or in this case, since the leaves were of lesser matter, repelled _them_ from _you_. Kind of like when the North side of a magnate meets the North side of another magnate. I thought it was neat. Not to mention it could be used in multiple other useful ways. Ever wonder how ninja can jump so high? Bingo.

So, even when the guy wasn't directly trampling all the crackly leaves, it was another thing all together not to make a single sound at all. It was as if the very air around him was _muted_, and if I wasn't seeing it for myself, I would never have believed a human being could move so soundlessly, with such grace—and I couldn't even see a goddamned thing but his _feet_… Now _that_ was saying something. I wasn't sure _what_, but just to clear things up, I _don't_ have a fetish for feet.

In order to distract myself, I closed my eyes and imagined myself back someplace that wasn't here. It wasn't a beach this time, though. When I opened my eyes again I was looking out over a sprawling city from a penthouse suite. I'm in New York, my grandfather's apartment on Thirty-First Street. I could see the Chrysler building, and at night it's all lit up. There's also a clubhouse with a glass roof that lights up different colors, interchanging at regular intervals too. I sit at the huge window and listen to the sounds of the city—sirens, the wailing of car horns and traffic—some hate it. Some find it calming. From way up here, it's like a nighttime melody, a heaven over the chaos, and it's easy to fall asleep to. I nearly do, and I know that tomorrow will be a day full of new adventures, and the smell of homemade waffles in the morning—

My eyes fly open, pupils dilating within pools of green, at the slightest tickle on my hand. It takes all my willpower not to jerk and flail around like a crazy person. It's a smaller one this time, but no less horrifying. It's brown with long, spindly legs, and for some reason, I just seem to be attracting them today like flies to a dung heap. I have an odd fascination with things that I'm afraid of. Even though I'd die to get away from them, when I'm a comfortable distance away…I watch. There was once a web with a large, fat orb weaver right outside my bedroom window, and I remember watching it as I fell asleep as a wolf watches the aggressor that corners it—warily, eyes taking in every movement and analyzing it. I hated the way they moved, I decided, especially when agitated; it made my insides crawl. But I still watched, rapt with attention to every detail. I remember researching them too—the more you know about your enemy, the better—and from the dark, upside-down violin shape on the spider's cephalothorax, I felt nausea rise within me. I didn't dare move, but I couldn't help sucking in a sharp burst of air in a shuddery gasp as it started to crawl up my arm.

_Oh, no, no, no, nononononon_—

But by then I'd realized my mistake. It was all my fault. One moment, those deadly feet were in the clearing, and the next they were planted right in front of us. I _blinked_. And there they were. As if things could get any worse…and then I looked up. It was worse. Oh god, it was _so_ much worse…

The man had a mane of longish, wild black hair that hung halfway in his face obscuring one of those intense black eyes. Staring into them widely with my own, it zoomed my mind back to the time when I used to laugh about it. Him. Uchiha Madara, I mean. I always thought his facial expressions were weird. Especially 'The Crazy Face.' I literally stared at the computer screen for about twenty seconds before bursting out laughing. And if you don't know what face I'm talking about, then you have no right to call yourself a fan of Uchiha Madara. And for some reason, even though the real thing was standing right here in front of me for some inconceivable reason, and was more than likely going to kill me, I couldn't help but imagine 'The Crazy Face' and feel the hysterical urge to burst out laughing like I did every time I saw it in passing while surfing the net… and I probably _would_ have if there wasn't a potentially hazardous eight legged monstrosity slowly inching its way up my arm.

And so Uchiha Madara took up a total of about _five_ full seconds of my attention before it was returned to the Brown Recluse currently skittering up my arm guard with that horribly sluggish yet…inherently _wrong_ way of moving that made my insides _squirm_ and my skin crawl. Madara could shove a sword through my gut, or slit my throat with a kunai, but _whatever_ he did, it would most assuredly be _quick_, and couldn't possibly be _worse_ than what I was feeling right now—unless he decided to _rape_ me for some reason, which would be _completely_ out of character for him, so just _no_. Ruling out torture, I had absolutely nothing to fear from him but death, and since we've already established that spiders are _worse_ than death, I honestly didn't give a flying shit about him at the moment. I just clenched my eyes shut—breathing frantic and unrestrained now that we'd been so obviously discovered—and I strained my body away from the spider as if I could somehow physically _detach_ the limb from my body and just leave it behind. I once heard that foxes sometimes gnawed off their own legs to get out of a trap; I think I finally understood the mentality…

I could feel Riki tense up behind me, letting out a dirty expletive that would've made Marui slap him. But honestly? What the _fuck_ was he going to do? He had us cornered. Not to mention you could pretty much _feel_ the obscene amount of chakra leaking out of Madara, and I didn't even know what the hell chakra _felt_ like. Obviously I did now. It wasn't killing intent _yet_—that much I could tell—so at least I wasn't puking all over the place. Puking. Spiders. That would _not_ be a good mix at the moment. So I was at least glad for that. It was hard to explain what it felt like. Sort of like…have you ever met a person who could light up a room? A person with a sort of…presence? Well I don't think Madara was the sort of person who had a habit of being the life of the party, but he _did_ have this air about him. It drew your attention _immediately_. And more than standing next to someone who was socially inclined, it reminded me more of the feeling one might get when standing next to a _nuclear reactor_. More than a substance, chakra was a _feeling_. Like some people can feel tension in the air—_that's_ what chakra was. And, growing up where tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, let's just say I grew _very_ sensitive to the stuff. It was a matter of _survival_. Even a vague sense of it was enough to get the hell out of doge before the storm hit. It's just too bad that the storm was already here…

I'd begun to cry, because the spider was almost at my exposed shoulder. I could see its feelers flicking at me, and even though I could see the silent, deadly shinobi shift to kneel down in front of us, I was focused on the six, shiny, beady black eyes fixed on me instead of his two curious ones. At this point? I couldn't care less about Madara. Riki didn't dare make a move. We were at his mercy, but I just did—not—give—a—fuck. It was the thick, surprisingly warm laughter that brought my tear-filled eyes flickering towards him, finally.

Astutely, he deduced, "You're not even afraid of _me_, it's the spider…" His eyes held a cruel sort of amusement, and, curiously, he reached out a gloved hand to grab one of its spindly legs, retrieving it just as it was about to reach my exposed skin above the stretchy black under-liner of my glove guards. Immediately, I felt relief and gratitude towards the suddenly much more intimidating man, but tensed again as I watched him examining the squirming thing closely. The dark eyes remained fixed calculatingly on the arachnid, but he spoke to me through a razor edged grin that made my stomach twist in knots, "If I'm right, and I usually _am_…this is a venomous species known to these parts. They're not usually aggressive…" His eyes flicked back to me and the sharp, unkind smile grew wider, as he cruelly began to inch the flailing creature towards my nose, "_However_, when threatened, and pressed to the skin, they can have quite a nasty bite… Nearly painless, but sometimes _deadly_, and I've heard a rumor that even the _skin_ rots off…"

Riki clenched my arms as if tensed to jump, but before he could, a sharp, clear voice cracked like a whip from the clearing, "What are you, _twelve_? Quit torturing the locals, you oversized child."

The wicked smile melted off Madara's face like day-old snow in the Deep South and settled into a scowl, muttering the name like a curse, "Izuna…" He didn't take his eyes off us, and gave me one last look of unpleasant amusement before moving the skittering thing one inch closer to my face for my horrified reaction and suddenly squashing it in his hand with a muffled, but audibly disgusting '_squirting'_ sound…_and then he wiped it on my clothes_. I stared at him, fuming in silent rage and disbelief.

With a final laugh at my expense he straightened and moved to join someone I never imagined in my wildest, _wildest_ dreams I would ever meet.

Uchiha Izuna was still _alive_.

He didn't look any kinder than Madara, but he somehow had more…open features. He was of slighter build, with fuller lips, a low pony tail, and bangs the color of raven feathers framing either side of his face. His eyes were relaxed, instead of narrowed like Madara's, and seemed somewhat less intimidating, but maybe he did that on purpose. I knew each of them was as deadly as the other, but since he called off the spider wielder, I felt a profound sense of appreciation for the youngest of the two brothers. As if he could sense the admiration in my eyes, his own darted to mine and he flashed a lukewarm smile my way. Lukewarm was good. Lukewarm wasn't cruel, like Madara.

"I see you've made some new friends, Older Brother." Izuna arched one dark brow at him, his eyes shrewd and intelligent.

Madara raised one shoulder in a shrug, suddenly eying us with distaste as Riki got me to my feet, maneuvering me behind him, and the Uchiha replied, "Just some Tobibito rats… Not even remotely interesting."

Izuna sent him a dubious look—as if he hadn't just been _thoroughly_ entertaining himself by tormenting me not even a minute ago, "Perhaps not…" Then his eyes flashed back to us, freezing Riki's tense muscles into piano wires again, "But perhaps they might offer us some information…?"

"The Senju come from somewhere around the North West quadrant of the forest." Riki immediately supplied, his face and voice devoid of any sort of sentiment, "Don't go too far, or you'll reach the Nara, and their shadowy lands are treacherous to those not of their ilk. Worse, you might run into the Akimichi, or the Yamanaka—neither of them are pushovers either. But I trust you'll find your way without too much trouble."

Izuna raised both brows this time in a pleased smile, "It's like you read my mind…" In any other situation, I would have giggled at the coy tone of voice. It also seemed he was a fan of puns. Although it really wasn't that funny if you thought about it for a second…

"Lucky guess." Riki replied tonelessly, his eyes betraying nothing, "I also hear rumors of a war. If the Uchiha are looking for information, it's not that hard to deduce what information that might be. I'd be happy to supply such information as long as my daughter and I are free to go with our lives. They're meaningless to you."

"You're right. They are meaningless." Madara agreed…the razor edged smile was back, "…But I don't like that face of yours."

My eyes widened and I scowled at him indignantly, taking in Riki's carefully emotionless features just to double-check before shooting at the older Uchiha, "He's not even _making_ any sort of—_mmpft_!" And Riki's hand slapped back down over my mouth.

Izuna let out a quiet laugh that reminded me of bells and shook his head, slapping Madara's shoulder with a gesture, "Let's go. We have what we need. Why spoil the lovely scenery with unnecessary death? That's not like you. Are you in a bad mood?" The look he sent his younger brother said, _Why yes, I _am_ in a bad mood, how fucking nice of you to notice_. Instead of balking at the dark look, however, Izuna only smiled, "…You know the longer we stay here, the longer it'll take for us to find out if our friend's information is accurate. If not, we can always get rid of him later. Besides, wouldn't you rather be spending energy on the Senju?" Logic! Good one, Izuna! Madara will never stand a chance!

I couldn't help mentally cheering on the brother that didn't necessarily consider murdering us to be on his priority list. Sure, I wouldn't want to sing him praises, but I was seriously contemplating sneaking him a smile from behind Riki's slackened fingers. In fact, I did just that, and, to my utter amazement, he sent me one right back, along with a _wink_. Against my will, I felt my cheeks flood bright pink.

Madara's eyes passed from one of us to the other before rolling in exasperation, "God save me from hormonal idiots… I'm out of here." Ironically, as he leapt into the tall branches, I thought I heard him mutter agitatedly to himself, "Why am I the only one who takes things seriously?"

Amusement dancing in his eyes, Izuna gave us a small incline of his head before following after him. On impulse, I couldn't help prying Riki's hand fully away from my mouth and shouting after him, "Izuna-saaan! Be careful! Don't die!"

He stopped, and sent me an incredulous look back over his shoulder, even Madara took pause to watch his brother's reaction, but in the end he sent me a genuine smile, "You either, Princess. Don't let anyone damage that cute face of yours. I'll be back."

And the implications of that, well…what _were_ the implications of that, actually? Oh god, I don't even want to know. On the other hand…my cheeks were hot again, and suddenly I couldn't get enough oxygen. Was my head going to explode? Riki was eyeing me strangely. Was it swelling up?

"…I think maybe you'd do better as a kunoichi." He finally concluded, bemusement in his voice, "Those dimples of yours may have just saved our lives."

"Y…you've got dimples…tooo…hehehe…" I slurred out unintelligently before the pressure in my head finally overwhelmed me and suddenly the world went sideways, black dots filtering over my vision until finally everything went black. It was the first time I ever fainted due to shock.

* * *

**Okay, so I wanted this chapter to be longer, but I figured this was a good place to end it as any.**

**I also didn't want to introduce the main villain too early, but Plot Clinic says you're supposed to introduce ALL the main characters in the exposition, sooo... I just hope it doesn't seem too cheesy. Asa isn't immune to Uchiha charms... **

**REVIEW. I need to hear the verdict.**


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